


What should have been...  and will be.

by Roar_Ra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean, Guilty Sam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roar_Ra/pseuds/Roar_Ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam stays away from both Cas and Dean, let them think he’s wallowing in guilt, too ashamed to meet either man’s eyes – the best lies are based in truth.</p><p>The requirements for such a powerful spell surprisingly relatively common, so Sam’s time is mostly spent on construction.  Backbreaking hours chopping and hauling wood.</p><p>After all, it should have been him up there all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What should have been...  and will be.

“It should be you up there, not her.”

 

It’s probably not the most hurtful Dean’s ever said to him, but definitely makes the top 5. 

 

The words haunt Sam’s every waking hour and a majority of his dreams as well.

 

Because Dean’s right.  Charlie’s blood is on his hands.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam spends the next week hiding in his room pouring over Charlie’s notes, the book and the codex, on the 6th day, he finds it.

 

Sam looks numbly at the spell. The cure.  He should feel even a little bit of happiness, of victory, but all he can feel is an overwhelming sense of relief.

 

No need to be indebted to Rowena, he can easily do this spell without her help.   He calls Crowley up to come get his witch, hopes to mend a few fences there. Rowena goaded Charlie into leaving, it’s no more than she deserves.

 

* * *

 

 

The requirements for such a powerful spell are surprisingly common, so Sam’s time is mostly spent on construction.  Backbreaking hours chopping and hauling wood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean’s fury knows no bounds of heaven or hell. He carries the blade around constantly, like it’s a baby cradled in his arm.  It’s disturbing, but suits Sam’s purpose.

 

That night, Sam tries his best to please his brother, making him food which he knows Dean will not eat and bringing him scotch which he slams without so much as a thankyou.

 

It’s okay though, Sam just needed him to drink the damn scotch without noticing what it was laced with.

 

Dean is starting to realize something is wrong, his arms and legs aren’t moving properly, he barely gets out a slurred and angry. “aaamy!”

 

Sam smiles sadly as he approaches his brother. “You were right, it should have been me up there.”

 

He removes his shirt leaving Dean to gape at the half naked man before him.  “I found it, the cure, and you’re right, there is a blood-price, but it’s a hell of a deal. It won’t involve anything more than feeding the mark what it wants most.”

 

Dean tries to resist as Sam pulls the blade from his hand.  The younger hunter makes a quick slice down his palm, hissing at the pleased roar resonating from the blade.  Quickly Sam dips his fingers in the welling pool of blood in his palm and traces the symbols he’s memorized by heart into his exposed flesh.

 

“As soon as the blade get’s my lifeblood, the spell will start working, it’ll just take a few minutes…”   Dean give an enraged growl.  “When my heart stops...  You’ll be free, and so will I.”

 

Sam wraps Dean’s numb hands around the blade; taking a moment, he selfishly allows his lips to ghost across his brother’s forehead.  “I’ve always loved you too much, I’m sorry you’ll never be able to forgive me for that, but you should try to forgive Cas.  I don’t want you to be alone.”

 

Green eyes plead, begging Sam not to do this.

 

Sam wraps his hands around Dean’s and impales himself on the blade in one smooth movement, bone piercing flesh with ease.  The blade sings with triumphant pleasure.   Sam falls forward, into a parody of an embrace; blood bubbling from his mouth.  “Love you big brother.”  A red smear on Dean’s cheek appears as Sam presses him lips agains his brother one last time.

 

The red mark is marred by silent tears as Dean watches his little brother lurch up, blade falling to the floor and staggering a bloody trail behind him as he reaches the door.

 

"Don’t worry, Dean.  I’ve already got everything ready, it’s all prepared.” Sam leans unsteadily on the doorframe. “After all, we both know... it should have been me up there not her.”

 

The door shuts.  Dean’s silent screams and prayers echoing in his head.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel is by Dean’s side a few moments later. “I’m sorry Dean, I got here as fast as I could, but Sam seems to have spent some time warding this room.” He looks curiously at Dean, “You are unwell.”  A tap to the forehead and Dean’s able to move again.  “Sam did this to you?  Dean your arm. The mark is fading!”

 

Dean sprints out of the chair and out the door, following the blood trail to the clearing of Charlie’s pyre. “That’s because Sam’s nearly gone you idiot, he’s becoming a sacrifice to the mark, removing it by making me kill him.”

 

They find him almost instantly.

 

A beautiful martyr, Sam is sprawled across the pyre, obviously he'd used the last of his strength to get there, his position and wound mirroring their mother and Jess’s death almost perfectly. Soon to be up in flames.

 

_Chuck and his motherfucking literary symmetry._

 

Dean pulls Sam into his arms as Castiel put’s his hands over Sam’s wound.

 

“I cannot heal this, Dean.  He has put a warding on himself protecting from any angelic or demonic interference.”

 

“No, no, no, Sammy.  Not this.  You promised me! You fucking liar!”

 

Hazel eyes look up at the sky, unseeing. “Ain’t that a bitch.” And with a smile, the light fades from his eyes.

 

Dean howls in agony as he feels the last burn of the mark disappear from his arm.

 

 _'I think it should be you up there, not her.'_   Words growled so carelessly in the heat of despair, words that have brought them here.  No getting Sam back, no deals, no resurrections, his little brother is gone.

 

Dean holds his brother’s still warm corpse,  "I didn't mean it Sammy, I swear I didn't!"  A broken man, sobbing and placing light kisses, each one a plea for forgiveness across his brother's flesh.

 

Silence is the only answer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Epilogue:

 

Dean holds his brother until the sun sets, somehow knowing it will happen at twilight.

 

“Show yourself you son of a bitch.”

 

The pale, skeletally thin figure approaches from the trees, looking for all the world like he was just on a leisurely evening stroll.

 

“I felt it appropriate to come in person, after all, it’s not often that one get’s to reap the great Sam Winchester, the should-have-been Boy King, who defeated Lucifer instead.  With your help, of course.”  The figure gives a small bow of respect.

 

“You  know what I want-“

 

“Just as you know that Sam specifically warded against you making any deals, using any angels or spells to bring him back.” The corner of Death’s mouth quirks up. “Looks like at least one of you Winchesters finally got the memo.”

 

A long thin hand reaches above Sam’s chest and a glowing blue white light raises up to meet it.

 

“Please.”  Tears shine in Dean’s eyes as he begs, not even sure what he’s asking for anymore.

 

“You may say goodbye.”

 

The light moves towards Dean, and he looks into Sammy’s soul with awe.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

 

Moving slowing, almost with hesitantly, Sam’s soul reaches out at caresses Dean’s cheek.

 

“Please, Sammy.”  Dean can’t help the words as they are torn from his lips. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be alone. Please don’t leave me.”

 

The soul glows a little less, brightly, great, he’s managed to make Sam sad. 

 

Sam soul pulses and Dean can tell he’s asking Death something important.

 

“Well, I assume there’s a possibility, but to be honest, I wouldn’t put money on the ‘shared heaven’ theory anymore.”

 

Great, Dean knows for a fact his ledger looks a fuck of a lot worse than Sam’s right now.  Dean's heaven is looking out of reach, and Sam never showed any real enthusiasm for his own.

 

The light pulses red.

 

“Well don’t get angry with me, yes he’s your soulmate, but that doesn’t guarantee he’s  going to the same place when he dies.”

 

The soul panics, rushes back to Dean who immediately holds it for all he’s worth, holds it like he held onto his infant brother all those years ago.

 

Sam reaches out a tendril and Suddenly he can FEEL a part of Sam’s soul caressing him from the inside out.  It’s asking a question.  It’s asking permission. 

 

Dean doesn’t know what Sammy wants, but his answer will always be the same.  YES.

 

Death manages to look vaguely annoyed. “This is highly irregular, Sam Winchester, even for you.”

 

Sam’s soul glows a possessive white, wrapping more tendrils around Dean.

 

“You do know a true soul bond will drag you to whichever eternity your brother is sent to.”

 

“Hey wait there, Sammy.  Let’s think this thru, what are the odds of my scales tipping-“

 

If it’s possible for a soul to give someone the finger, Sam’s just did.  The increased bond with Sam’s soul has allowed a nearly telepathic communication.

 

‘Then we’d better get to saving people and hunting things, jerk!’

 

“Bitch.”  Dean mutters under his breath, but he pulls Sammy closer to him. Accepting him completely, letting his love surround the shining energy and cement it to himself.

 

“Good luck, Dean, Sam.  I hope it’s a long time before we meet again, you two have work to do.”

 

* * *

 

It turns out Dean’s soul is sort of a spiritual resting place for Sam's. Dean sleeps each night bathed in it’s glow as he holds it tenderly to his chest, a smile on his face, the faint glowing outline of an oversized man holding him.

 

The hunt goes on, as it always does, Dean’s infamy as a knight of hell fades in time, as his fame as one of the best hunters in the hemisphere continues to grow (one who strangely often travels with large predator’s who should really be eating his face, but instead always have his back.)

 

If some hunters he encounters wonder why his hell-hound sized dog is occasionally caught reading research lore, or surfing the internet, they know better than to ask.  After all never question a Winchester when they say someone is ‘family’.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so this was just a quick brain dump because I am feeling traumatized by Charlie's end. This is something that I just NEEDED to get out so the idea would stop haunting me.
> 
> Thanks for coming along for the ride.


End file.
